


preferences (fall's gift)

by saltytangerine



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: 1930s, Anal Sex, Barebacking, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Bottom Bucky Barnes, Domestic, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff and Smut, Gay Bucky Barnes, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Sleepy Sex, Spit As Lube, Top Steve Rogers, bucky works too hard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-07
Updated: 2019-04-07
Packaged: 2020-01-06 06:53:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18383231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltytangerine/pseuds/saltytangerine
Summary: Bucky Barnes likes to sleep on his stomach with his head rested on his folded arms. He sleeps best in the fall when the temperature drops and a thin blanket is all he needs to stay comfortable. The sun is welcome in the daytime and it can shine down on him and turn his skin golden while it's high in the sky all it wants, but at night when there's a sleeping body next to his, he needs the chill in the air that fall brings.





	preferences (fall's gift)

Bucky Barnes likes to sleep on his stomach with his head rested on his folded arms. He sleeps best in the fall when the temperature drops and a thin blanket is all he needs to stay comfortable. The sun is welcome in the daytime and it can shine down on him and turn his skin golden while it's high in the sky all it wants, but at night when there's a sleeping body next to his, he needs the chill in the air that fall brings.  
  
The first night he shared a bed with Steve; after they graduated from sleeping on couch cushions on the floor, he slept with his head at the foot of the bed, his feet on Steve's pillow. At first he was frightened of moving, of kicking his friend, and in turn, getting a bony foot to the face. They slept like this for nearly a year under Sarah's insistence, before one night, while she worked the night shift, he wrapped his arms around Steve's middle and curled up behind him with his face pressed against the back of Steve's head. Since that November night, every night shared ended with Bucky still clinging to him in the morning.  
  
The trash hasn't been taken out and he rolls his eyes but he simply can't face making the journey when his eyes hurt from staying open for so long; they itch and they were red when he looked in the mirror before he left work. No one wants to work watch duty, cold and damp on the dock, but the bosses pay time and a half to the idiots who pick up the shifts. The double shifts wear him into the ground, working until his hands threaten to bleed from damp rope, heavy loads and salt water. It isn’t a regular occurrence for him to work overnight shifts, but Steve’s latest doctors appointment cost him an entire half weeks wages and he when he finally arrives home, Steve’s already at school. His lack of presence in the apartment is always stark and unwelcoming. He doesn't know how people live alone, if not only for the high rent costs but the thought of not having his friend to greet him most nights makes him feel the worst type of uneasy. He wanders the path to their bedroom, slipping the suspenders off his shoulders as his feet drag on the wooden floor; his socks need darning and he jokes about Steve fixing them but weeks later he still has a hole at the heel of his right sock. The room isn't large and neither is their bed; its size doesn't discourage him from the allure of sleep and he yawns wide, no one around to catch his exaggerated facial expression as he does. He nudges a pair of Steve's slacks on the floor with his foot and makes a note to scold him when he comes home, a thought he's already forgotten when he puts his knee on the bed and climbs onto the lumpy mattress.

There's no point in wearing a shirt to bed when there is no money for distinction between day clothes and night clothes. His shoulders bare, his cheek resting on his forearm, he steals sleep where he can and when Steve isn't in the apartment; he can rest without the worry that he would sleep into time that could be spent awake with him. He’s asleep before his head hits their single pillow, lying above the blankets, shirt left discarded on the rug and his pants draped over the back of the chair by the bed.  
Once asleep, nothing can wake him, only Steve gently whispering his name, lips oh so close to his ear and his gentle hand on his shoulder. A sweet awakening that loosens sleeps grip on his tired body and tempts him to join the land of the living again.  
Steve leaves the windows open in the fall, his last chance of fresh air in the apartment before the cold snaps at his joints and seizes his muscles in agonizing cramps each morning. The curtains are so thin that sunshine still manages to peek into their bedroom and they rustle noiselessly along with the breeze. There's a northerly wind coming down from Canada that holds a welcome coldness to the air and it laps at Bucky's fading tan; he doesn't mind it and in his sleep, he turns onto his his right side, into the breeze.  
  
He leaves the school after lunch— he has no afternoon class on a Wednesday and he debates eating lunch by the statue but without Bucky sleeping by his side, his nights aren’t as restful. He doesn’t have enough money for the two trolley rides, so he reluctantly walks the last part of his journey home, his cheeks flushed by the time he pushes the front door open. His mother taught him to toe his shoes off as soon as he entered the apartment and to put his key in the dish in the kitchen, beside her cat figurine on the counter. He's light on his feet and barely makes a sound as he walks through the kitchen, something he learned to be aware of at a young age, even if he can’t hear his footsteps with his own ears, someone else can. If Bucky was awake, he would be sat either on the windowsill, smoking cheap cigarettes or on the couch, reading the free papers. He likes catching him by surprise, but when he catches him asleep, watching Bucky wake up, seeing the sleepiness disappear and his gentle smile, how his face tenses momentarily only to soften at the sight of a 5’ 4” scrawny blond kid makes his chest feel the good kind of tight.

Bucky is facing away from him when he goes to the bedroom. His chestnut hair needs a cut but they can't afford to go to a barber and Steve is scared of ruining it; it's thick and has the softest curl when it's this long, but he hides it with pomade stolen from his father. The bed barely dips with his weight and Steve settles beside him, one hand on his upper arm and the other underneath his own head. Touching his skin is electric, it is smooth and beautiful and when Steve presses a kiss to the nape of his neck, it sends shivers down through both of them. Bucky shrugs his shoulders forward, and rolls back onto his front, letting out a huff of breath as he does and Steve isn’t sure if he’s woken him.

“Buck…” He whispers, sliding his hand along his shoulder blades, his fingers dipping along the contours of his muscles. He wants nothing more than to worship the body of the man who wants him as badly as he does, tiredness escaping him.

Bucky turns his head and although his eyes don't open, he knows Steve's there. He nods and when Steve strokes his cheek, he kisses his thumb. It isn't so much of a weight on top of him when Steve climbs on top, but a pressure that somehow pushes out every ounce of tension that he's ever held inside himself. It's reassuring and he lets his legs move apart so he can nestle against him and they can pretend that they're one person, resting in the October afternoon, the sound of traffic and kids playing becoming background music to their own movie that plays in the safety of their apartment.  
He makes him feel twice his size and when he takes his own shirt and undershirt off, he doesn't speak, aware of breaking the stillness around them; the breeze a forgotten memory, no longer cooling the room. He folds his shirt haphazardly, knowing that if Bucky sees their room in a bigger mess than he left it, he’ll most likely leave Steve in the bed, to sleep on the couch. He sets it on the end of the bed and when he lays back down, his bare chest against Bucky's back, he wants to drink him in, he could be sustained by only Bucky’s touch. He settles for kissing along his neck and gripping his waist tighter than he should. Bucky reaches back and with his eyes still closed, he welcomes Steve's touch, his hand blindly and lazily pushing at the waistband of Steve's loose slacks.

He feels guilty for a moment at the idea of waking him, and he knows his pawing at his trousers isn’t necessarily a sexual invitation, but an invitation for the pair just to be close. He acquiesces when Bucky reaches back with both hands and his eyebrows furrow because Steve hasn’t undressed fully. Still, no words are exchanged and his slacks join Bucky’s on the chair when he throws them across the room. Bucky is taller than him-- that isn’t a difficult feat to achieve-- at 20, he’s reached his full height of 6’ and Steve’s head sometimes reaches the tip of his shoulder when they walk towards their front door at nighttime. He never feels inadequate when their hands touch or when he’s curled up behind Bucky, cradling his larger body with his smaller one.  
The nights draw in sooner than they like, but under the guise of early evenings, their curtains are drawn earlier and when Bucky returns from work with the twilight, he’s free to press a kiss to Steve’s temple. Touch reignites them both and although sometimes they freeze when a kid knocks on their door as a prank; they aren’t particularly careful as long as the windows are covered. Their home is their sanctuary and Steve is aware of how dramatic it sounds, but in the small apartment, he can touch him any way he wants, he can try and pull him onto his lap and he can see how flushed Bucky’s cheeks get when he pulls away from a kiss.

“You need a haircut, Buck.” He mutters, running his fingers through Bucky’s hair while he runs his other hand along his side and slides it around his waist. Bucky doesn’t reply, but he can feel him pushing back into his touch. The soft yawn that Bucky lets out doesn’t discourage him and Steve pushes himself up along his back so he can hook his chin over Bucky’s shoulder and kiss the corner of his mouth, his hand still fisted in his hair. His features relax and he grabs Steve’s hand from under him and holds onto it tight, pulling it under his head along with his own. Bucky Barnes is sentimental when he’s sleepy, he’s never more affectionate than when Steve nestles against him in their bed. Not one for wasting a kiss, he turns his head slightly so he can meet his lips a little better, but his neck hurts when he tries; heavy lifting takes its toll on even the youngest of bodies. He rests his head back down and settles for kissing the back of Steve’s hand.  
Steve can’t stop himself and he lowers himself back down so he’s slotted perfectly between his legs, their hips level and the warmth that comes from Bucky crackles through his skin and without meaning to, he rolls his hips down to meet his, their thin underwear never seeming to be quite thin enough when all Steve craves is to feel every inch of of him. It’s easy to lose himself in just _feeling_ and his fingers close tighter around his hair and when he pulls, he can’t help but leave kisses along his neck and it isn’t even voluntary, the way he ruts against him.

“You tuggin’ on my hair isn’t a good way to get me to cut it.” He speaks for the first time since bidding goodbye to his colleagues at the docks shortly after dawn. He makes sure that his head is turned enough so Steve can try and read his lips as he talks, aware that his voice is rough and quiet after being woken up. He opens his eyes a crack and although Steve can see the thought of dark circles under his eyes, the blue is clear as ever and there’s the slightest of crinkle at the corners of his eyes when he smiles at his own joke.

“You’re a dog, Barnes.” He mumbles and Bucky just smiles into the pillow and lets his hand go.

“You just gonna keep on rubbin’ against me or are you gonna actually do somethin’ other than just disturb a poor guy’s peace?” It’s teasing and Steve knows it from the way Bucky pushes back against him. It’s all the go ahead he needs and he lets go of Bucky’s hair after tugging at the dark strands one last time. When with Bucky, he’s confident, even though his heart pounds just like the first time when he tucks his fingers under the waistband of his briefs and watches as the cotton is pulled down to reveal soft curve of his rear, bleached cotton stark against his skin.

“Can’t help it.” He says under his breath and he sits up so he can pull his briefs off all the way, down along Bucky’s legs, with no help from Bucky at all. He doesn’t even lift his leg when the briefs are at his ankles, instead, he lets out a soft exhale and licks his lips. Steve doesn’t even consider being careful with where their underwear ends up; they can find them in the morning, but now the evening is drawing in, light is fading and Steve doesn’t want to pull away to light a lamp. He doesn’t pay as much attention to his own underwear and when he lays himself over him, his hardening cock finding its place between Bucky’s cheeks, he forgets what it was like to ever wear clothes at all. He has one hand on Bucky's hip, one arm wrapped around his waist, his cheek pressed against his back as he uses the space between his cheeks. “Buck, what do you want? I should be takin’ care of you after workin’ so hard.”

It draws a chuckle from him and he loves nothing more in the world at that moment than Steve Rogers. He reaches down and closes his fingers around Steve's hand under him and pushes it down, towards his own cock. “You're the boss, Stevie, 'sides, you know what I like.”

There's nothing in the bedroom to hand he can use to slick himself up and as gorgeous as Bucky looks with Steve's fingers in his mouth, the pre-cum that he's spreading over his hole with every thrust of his hips tells him that watching him suck on him would be too much. Instead, he sucks on two of his own fingers and as he wraps his other hand around Bucky, he circles his hole until he feels the fluttering of muscle and he thinks he hears a soft hum from up by the pillows. He's always warm to Steve's cold; the spit gives him just enough to slide the two fingers in with the smallest amount of coaxing and with an intake of breath and one hand, Bucky pulls his cheeks apart. As relaxed as he is, his fingers slide in and out slowly, he meets less resistance than when they rush and he is barely able to take a second breath before Steve is buried inside.

Bucky clears his throat and it sounds dry. He glances over his shoulder when Steve pulls out his fingers and he bucks forward into his hand. “Do you need me to--” He's cut off by Steve's fervent shake of his head and when the tip catches on his slightly stretched entrance his eyes close again. He hears Steve spit and it’s not his fingers inside him anymore.

Steve fits in him, with him, so perfectly. One moves and the other is already following. Bucky’s eyebrows knit together when he starts to push inside and he grips the edge of the mattress with his lips parted, turning his face into the pillow before Steve can see any flicker of discomfort.  
Steve wonders if the spit that he spread along himself is enough and when he sees Bucky tense, his shoulders drawing up in a pained shrug, he leans down and kisses along his spine, feeling how his muscles in his back are like rock as he holds himself together.

“You woke me up, punk, you can at least finish.” He says with a clearer voice than either of them were expecting. When Steve doesn't move, he takes it upon himself to rock his hips forward, into the circle of Steve's hand and then back, forcing the last couple of inches inside. He isn't big by any means, but it fills Bucky up just fine and he can hit whatever sweet spots buried inside. The shock of being filled knocks the wind out of him every time and it's so easy to want to push away, as if just relaxing is a terrifying relinquishing of all control. Once he's past it, he fully relaxes, from his shoulders all the way down, even to his toes. It's only then Steve will move, and he knows it.  
He makes him feel powerful and the way he keens and needs to hold on to something as he takes his cock does little to persuade him of his frailty; Bucky’s reactions at his own hand makes him feel truly invincible. His asthma isn't as bad as it was when they started sleeping together and although he pants a little harder than him, Bucky's the one who is moaning into a pillow and spreading himself open for him. He feels lazy, aching to draw it out for as long as he can, not sure how he found someone as perfect as him. He sinks into him again and again, enveloped in his warmth and when Bucky gasps loudly and his hips stutter enough to almost throw Steve off balance, he aims there again and tightens his fist, ignoring the thudding of his heart and the familiar ache in his left knee.

“Does it feel good, sweetheart, gettin’ fucked by a guy you could step on?” Bucky nods quickly and almost on cue, his body tightens around Steve, urging him to thrust down into him hard, determined to knock the air out of him at least once. How Steve stays restrained, his movements even and almost too gentle, Bucky doesn't know, he feels a smile against his back, and he’s pressed so close to him that he’s not sure he could slide in deeper if he wanted anyway. “I woulda started doing this years ago if I knew it would get to stop you bein’ such a smartass.”

The friction Steve gives is just enough and the slow drag over his prostate is all of a sudden too much, and the pressure bubbles its way from his groin and radiates through him as he comes, moaning Steve's name and clinging to the sheets, knuckles white from holding on. He gives himself completely over to his Steve, not even sure if he’s still in Brooklyn and not heaven and the dragging feeling inside him brings him back to their bedroom. His grip loosens on the sheets and he pants softly, pure relaxation rolling through him and gently pushes Steve’s hand away from under him when his grip becomes overwhelming. He sees the white on his fingers and without hesitation he brings his hand up and sucks his fingers clean and he bites down in surprise at how hard Steve's final thrust in is before he feels him shudder above him, chest pressed flat against his back, the two men laying as one.  
He doesn't enjoy the stickiness inside him when Steve doesn't pull out, but he forgives him when he wraps his arms around him and kisses him sweetly in an attempt of apology that he will accept every time. The blanket under them becomes overstimulating to Bucky, itchy wool pricking into his sensitive skin, the dampness only heightening the scratch.

“Hey big guy, I gotta get up and do somethin’ about the mess you've left me in.” He says gently. He doesn't want to be left empty but Steve rolls off him when he taps on his thigh, still catching his breath, and now Bucky's the one who feels guilty and wishes he could share his own with him. He settles for kissing him when Steve's head rests on the pillow. He lifts himself up only slightly and his lips are dry when they close over Steve's lower lip and his hand rests on his cheek. His cheeks are flushed, lips glossy after he slips his tongue over them and Bucky doesn't understand why no one else sees him like he does. His hair is blond like sand, straighter than his own, his eyelashes rival any girls he's ever seen and there's something perfect about the way his hands cup his cheeks. The slight curve in his spine makes him aware of his posture and the way he holds himself to compensate, shoulders square and confident, makes him look regal.

He aches when he stands and he wonders if it is like what Steve feels in the winter. The bathroom is only steps away from the bed and the whole time he cleans himself, he doesn't look in the mirror, not knowing what Steve sees in him, working two jobs and hopelessly in love with the man he's known his whole life.  
“You took care of me pretty good there.” He whispers close to his ear when he climbs back in to bed, adjusting his briefs. He pulls off the top blanket and sighs in relief when he pulls Steve towards him and feels his breathing has returned to normal.

“I mean it; I'll look after you.” He squeezes Bucky's hand and the corner of his mouth quirks up in a sleepy smile of his own. “Because I want you, and you're the only one stupid enough to keep me.”

“Jury's still out on that one, pal, but you're right--” His grip is almost too tight and if he could, he would steal stars for him and his long nose, plump lips and soft skin and he believes actions speak louder than words that he could never say, but he smiles and kisses his forehead when Steve closes his eyes. “-- I'm _real_ sore about bein’ the one stuck with you.”  


**Author's Note:**

> All I seem write is pre-serum Steve/Bucky fluff??? I'm churning these all out before Endgame so we can at least have some more fluff to run to after the movie destroys us all. I'm really trying to be sensitive about Steve's health conditions without being ridiculous about it? We'll see how we go with the next couple of fics.


End file.
